Serendipity: A Poem in Parts

3. The force that danced on carefree toes through the day of one boy and one girl.

4. The story of that dance.

This is serendipity.

A girl walks into a café that she rarely ever enters to meet a friend she almost never sees. She passes by the table of a boy she notices is drawing on a card but she passes by because people often notice one another with little notice.

Her friend arrives.

She rises to greet him.

On his way to her, he stops at the table of the drawing boy.

She moves forward for an embrace, pauses for the introduction.

She prepares to perform the perfunctory polite-isms of what will probably be a pointless interaction.

Her hand touches his as their friend says their names. She feels the spark of electric shock.

Eyes meet.

She knows this boy.

Or she knew him as a kid although she never really knew him.

Maybe now she will …

This is serendipity.

Part One:

Tina arrives behind Ross

The four sit together and talk

But it is not a conversation of four

The girl and Ross spill words across the table

Tina and Andrew observe

Ideas and resources for respective endeavors are exchanged

Though the girl is talking, she is not listening

She is making random sketches

And watching the boy who draws

When the boy or Tina interject a comment, her ears prick up at the newness of the sound

But all she really hears

Is the intensity of this boy’s gaze

Eyes and small gestures translate so much more than the continued drone of a conversation

She realizes that running into this boy is serendipity.

Part Two:

Talking may be monotonous

But when Ross and Tina leave

The girl wants nothing more than to continue this silent conversation

It is anything but silent

Voices merge and mingle

Ideas emerge

Inspiration abounds

And somehow

In a world and time and mind where

True connection

Devoid of games and expectations

Seems so rare

All that the boy said made sense to her

And made her make sense to her

She goes to the bathroom and glances mindlessly at the clock

Thinking an hour or two has gone by since she almost passed him by

The clock is a shock

It has been six hours

Time often escapes her

This trap made by humanity to measure what is gone and what remains

But this time, time had passed unaware

There was none of the usual pressure to fill the time, pass the time, use the time

No pressure to do, but just happiness to be

Enraptured

By the mingling of words between two unemployed artist types

Where time had become irrelevant

And life had become art

This was serendipity

Part Three:

Be here now.

“Our faith is faith in someone else’s faith”.

And intelligent people believe it too.

Indymedia.

Walk for peace.

Grass tax.

Zine scenes.

Self-exploration.

Self expression.

Is there anything beyond just cooking the eggs?

It is all important and amazing and interesting and simple.

It is all awesome in the larger, more grand-eloquent meaning of the word

And most importantly, it is all funny.

“Every day from here to there, funny things are everwhere”

Said Dr. Seuss

This was serendipity.

Part Four:

Bibliophile.

They pass by a bookstore neither has ever been in though they should both have stopped in before.

They like the smell of books and the feeling of rooms where they have been collected.

They explore the magnificent images of Escher and the simple complexities of each other.

They sit on the floor, oblivious to the goings on around them until a petite Asian woman who had been puttering around in preparation for something notices him in more than just passing.

They remember each other.

Exchange commentary.

Catch up.

And she sees serendipity duck behind a bookcase as the woman invites them to attend a poetry reading she is planning.

How could they not?

They hear poems.

Provoking thought while simplifying sensation

Vow of silence

Sounds of Korea

The fear of night, fear of darkness, fear of media saturation

Closed eyes reveal more vivid sight than open ones

And they lean comfortably into the space between them

This is serendipity

Part Five:

Land of the Pharaohs

Heeding Nathan’s clowing suggestions

They locate the African import store

Crystal Dawn and One Heart Beat

Splendid voice and drumming rhythm

Culture …. Energy … Motion … Life

An amalgamation of these and more

Into a very beautiful event

She dances with a woman who is cute and funny and happy

He kicks a girl because they have release-your-angst-on-me entitlements

She falls in love with a very old man who could be described as spry

He plays flutes from multiple orifices

They dance faster than everyone else

They find truth in the Desiderata

And in music

A small chair sits on a shelf

A poster in a front corner shakes a silencing finger

The scent of incense overwhelms

The bass plays on

She is weary of poetry and dancing

But even adores the weariness

This is serendipity.

Part Six:

Cool breeze on a desert night

They hear a voice from across the street

She sees serendipity slip into the shadows

It’s his sister, Claudia

Post-Cher-Concert perfect

Orange eye make-up,

A snakeskin bodysuit,

A jangling belt

What sounds absurd looks amazing

A row of dancing feathers on her head completes the persona

Had they met in another time and place

Perhaps the girl would not have liked her

But this was a night of perfection

They talked, they laughed

They danced

Sweat and smoke and stench obliterated

By energy and motion and language

As they speak of the music, he exclaims

“Speaking of music …”

Leaping into the arms of a passerby

Turns out that the girl knows him

This is serendipity.

Part Seven:

Word of a party filtered throughout the experience

Party attended

Populated by fabulous people

They eradicated all pretension

Lived on earth

Alterations and escape were available but not mandatory

An appreciation of humanity

Shared beauty

A cat named Tanya

Breakdancing to Latin music

Rave dancing to hip hop

Flipping circles on trampolines

This felt like love

Until hunger happened

Practical things took precedence over the lovely exchange of energy

3 am trip to grills with photo booths and cereal

Dark, gritty coffee

This is serendipity

Part Eight:

She never saw him again

That chance meeting was a solo occurrence during a long day and a longer night

But it left a lasting impression

This boy emanates music in every motion he makes

His ideas are symphonies

His words hold melody

The beauty of a person is that they are never fully formed

Lives are filled with broken chords

We mean to strum a tune but make a cacophony

We are all full of uncharted huts and rhythmic drumbeats

He doesn’t play the piano

He finds the saxophone simple

He makes a girl who can’t hold a tune want to sing and dance

The sun rises and she can hear it

And so she can write again

It was serendipity.

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